“Sure thing.” Nash wasn’t in and neither was Cam. Susie had already called in sick, which wasn’t surprising. She had herself a new boyfriend, and her late nights were catching up. This was the second time she’d called in sick in less than a week. No matter. Honey preferred to be on her own anyway. The busier she was, the faster the time would go. She could close up shop, hide out in her apartment for the next few days, and not be bothered with all the Christmas craziness.
She tucked the present from Tiny under the bar and began to cut up some fruit. She didn’t do much because she had a feeling it was going to be dead. When she was done with the fruit, she began to scrub out the sinks and draft beer dispensers. By the time two o’clock rolled around, the place was sparkling and not one customer had walked through the doors. She told Josh to go and cranked up the tunes, though she changed it up a bit from Christmas songs to Foo Fighters. She might be from the South, but country wasn’t exactly her thing.
Not one to sit on her butt and do nothing, she decided to rearrange some of the tables and open up the space near the stage. When that was done, she dusted and mopped the entire bar and then cleaned the neon signs that lit up the bar and stage. She didn’t touch the big moose head ’cause it was creepy as hell. By four, she was tired. Her back ached and her belly rumbled. She grabbed the burger she’d had Josh make before he left and then locked up. She turned off the music and lights, retrieved the red bag Tiny had given her, and headed up to her apartment.
And still the snow fell.
While her microwave hummed, Honey checked her phone, but there were no messages, and she frowned. Simone usually sent her something silly on Christmas Eve. But then this year was different from before. Simone was in love and had moved to Florida. She probably forgot. Honey tossed the cell and, restless, eyed up the bright, shiny bag on her counter.
The microwave pinged, but she ignored it, cheeks burning with shame. Why had she been such an ass when Tiny gave it to her? Why did she have such a problem when someone did something nice for her?
Because they usually want something in return.
Angry with herself, she grabbed the bag before she could change her mind. Tiny wasn’t like that. Hell, no one she’d met in all of Crystal Lake was like that. She ripped open the card and laughed. It was perfect. A very naughty Santa four mugs deep at a bar, looking at the barkeep with a priceless expression on his face, while a half-empty toy bag lay at his feet. The guy looked disheveled, but more importantly, this Santa bore a striking resemblance to Tiny. No doubt the reason for this particular card. She then had a look at what was nestled in the gold tissue paper and felt her heart turn over.
With careful fingers, she extracted the most exquisite hand-blown glass decoration she’d ever seen. It was black, gray, and white—an abstract design that was intriguing, beautiful, and unique. She held it up to the light, a knot in her throat. She’d made one off-the-cuff remark about the boutique downtown and how much she’d loved the glasswork she’d spied in the window. Tiny had paid attention.
Honey stared at it and felt her eyes water. God, she was turning into a sap. She walked over to the saddest-looking Christmas tree on the planet, Earl was what she called the damn thing, and hung the ornament dead center. It wasn’t hard to do since there was only one other decoration, the doves from secret Santa, and a skimpy strand of lights she’d taken from the moose head in the bar. She plugged in the lights and stood back to admire the glasswork.
It was exquisite.
Honey grabbed her burger from the microwave and was just about to settle onto the sofa when her phone rang. She eyed the burger and then jumped up to answer it. It was probably Simone, and she didn’t want to miss the call. The fact was, she was out of sorts, and her friend’s voice would put things right. Before she could say hello, Honey heard a shaky voice on the other end—one that was definitely not Simone.
“Honey?”
Honey glanced at the caller ID, but it was unknown, and she didn’t recognize the number. “Yes, who’s this?”
“Brooke.”
Alarm bells sounded immediately. “Brooke, where are you? Are you okay?” The girl wouldn’t call unless she was desperate. She hated asking for help. Something they shared in common.
“I’m…no, not really.” Her voice trembled. “I got in a fight with Marcus. A bad one. But I don’t want to go home. Mom is drunk by now, and her new boyfriend is there. I can’t handle them.” Her voice quivered. “I went to the drop-in, but it’s closed. I forgot it was Christmas Eve.”
What teenager forgets about Christmas? But Honey knew. She was that kid. The one with no tree or presents or turkey dinner. The one who had a hell of a lot more to worry about than wondering what Santa was bringing.
“Where are you?” Honey grabbed her jacket off the island and slid her feet into her boots.
“At the coffee shop downtown. The one by the bank. But it’s closed. I’m just so cold, and I didn’t know who else to call.”
“I’m coming to get you.” Honey was out the door and took the stairs two at a time. “Just stay there. Don’t go anywhere, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Might take a bit to clear the snow off my car.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent. I’m glad you called.” Honey’s throat was tight. She’d been where the girl was. She knew how hard it was to ask for help sometimes.
“Okay.” The young girl sounded so sad and defeated, it broke Honey’s heart.
Honey pocketed her cell and went out the back door that faced the employee parking lot. As soon as she got outside, she was hit with a bitter wind, a gust of snow, and a smattering of ice pellets. She turned in a full circle. The lot had been plowed hours ago, but with the steady snowfall and now the freezing rain, it was not good. She eyed her car in dismay.
If she could get through the snow and ice to actually open up her vehicle, she doubted she’d be able to navigate the snow. Nash had been bugging her since November to get snow tires, and she hadn’t listened. Hell, part of her was surprised she was still in Crystal Lake, and she didn’t need them where she was headed next.
Another blast of wintry weather hit her in the face and galvanized her into action. She yanked out her phone and called the one person she knew she could count on. One ring was all it took.
“Hey, what’s up?” Nash’s warm voice filled her ear, and in the background, she heard voices.
“I need help.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Where are you?”
14
“Where you off to?” Cam came up to him just as Nash was pulling on his winter boots.
“Got to step out for a bit. I’ll be back.” Behind him, Tink pounded down the hallway and didn’t stop until he slammed into Nash’s legs.
“Uncle Nash can I come?” The kid looked up at him, those eyes of his amplified by his glasses, and the yearning he saw there made his heart constrict. Tink hadn’t left Nash’s side since the day before, when his sister had arrived for Christmas. Without her husband. Again. It didn’t take long to find out the break was now permanent; the bastard was living with some other woman and hadn’t seen his kids in two weeks. Tink was a smart boy. He knew something was up, but because of his age, he had no tools to handle it. He’d been whiny, wasn’t listening to his mother, and was generally being a little shit.
Nash felt for the kid. He bent down. “Not this time, bud.”
Tink made a face and stomped his feet. “I don’t want to stay here. It’s boring.” He emphasized the boring part and pushed his glasses up his nose. He was dressed in the ugliest Christmas sweater imaginable, with matching pants. The kid was adorable, and normally, that quivering bottom lip would be enough, but this wasn’t a trip Nash could take him on.
“It’s nasty out there, Tink. I wouldn’t go unless I had to.”
“Then why are you going?”
“A friend needs help, and I said I’d come. You wouldn’t want me to disappoint her, would you?”
Slowly, Tink
shook his head. “No.”
“Friend?” Cam grinned and reached for Tink. “Come on, little man. How about we play another round of Crazy Eights?” The card game was enough. Tink’s face transformed, and he yanked on Cam’s arm.
“Okay. But I want to dealt the hand.”
“You mean deal.” Cam pointed toward the kitchen.
“That’s what I said, silly.” Tink scampered back the way he’d come, and Nash reached for the door.
“Tell Mom I had to step out.”
“And where do I say you’re going when she asks?” Cam shrugged. “You know she’s going to.”
Nash didn’t bother to answer. He pulled out his gloves, tugged on a knitted black hat, and headed out into the storm. It took at least twenty minutes to get to the Coach House—normally a five-minute drive from his parents’. Luckily, his Jeep was four-by-four, or it might have taken longer. When he arrived, he spied Honey waiting outside, and as she ran for his vehicle, he reached for his cell. He left a terse voice mail for Terry, the guy in charge of his snow removal. He paid premium dollars to have his place done first, and it was obvious they hadn’t been by since early morning.
“Hey,” Honey said breathlessly as she slid into his truck. “Thanks for coming.” Her teeth chattered, and she shivered violently as she reached for her seat belt.
“You want to tell my why you’re outside in this crap wearing a jacket that might be okay for fall weather and boots that are definitely not waterproof?”
Another shiver racked her body. “We need to go to the coffee shop downtown and grab Brooke.” Her cheeks were pink when she turned his way, and something bloomed in his chest when her eyes met his. “Thanks for coming, Nash. I didn’t know how else to call.”
“No worries,” he replied gruffly as he put the vehicle into gear. He wouldn’t admit it, but the fact she’d called him when she was in trouble meant something. He just wasn’t sure what that something was. Or maybe he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know the why of it.
“What’s going on?” He maneuvered down empty streets, glad he didn’t have to deal with traffic as well as the storm. The wipers made a rhythmic sound as they swished back and forth, clearing the fast-falling snow.
Honey rubbed her hands together. Hell, she didn’t even have mittens on. He glared at her now. And no hat. Was she trying to freeze to death?
“This girl I’ve been helping out, Brooke, she called. She’s in trouble, and I told her I’d come get her. But my car—”
“Doesn’t have winter tires because apparently, I know nothing about living in Michigan in winter.” He’d only told her at least five times to get them.
She gave him a look of annoyance. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think I’d need them.”
“It’s Michigan. You need them.” Nash tossed her his own look of annoyance. “You might also want to invest in some mittens and a warm hat.” He glanced down. “Maybe some good boots. Heat escapes from your head and your feet. You want to keep those puppies warm.”
“Can we not? Jesus, Nash, you sound like my father.”
“He must have been a smart man.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Right. Shit. He sighed and turned onto the street that led to the town center. “All I’m saying is that out here, you need to dress for the conditions. Snow is pretty and all, but it’s dangerous. You don’t want to get stranded in a storm unprepared.”
“Noted.” Her answer was clipped.
Nash gripped the steering wheel. Why did they have to fight? Why couldn’t she admit he was right? Why couldn’t she just listen for once?
“There she is,” Honey said, sitting straighter as she peered through the windshield. Nash followed her gaze and spied someone standing in the alcove that led to Coffee Corner. The sidewalk hadn’t been shoveled, and as they pulled up, it was obvious the young girl was cold. Honey jumped out before he had a chance to put the Jeep into Park, and he slid a few inches before the vehicle came to a stop.
He watched in silence as Honey hugged the girl and then led her to his truck. She wore an overly large pea-green coat, hood up, with a dark purple hoodie underneath. It was pulled down low so Nash couldn’t get a good look at her as she slid into the backseat.
He didn’t say a word, and when Honey was back inside, seat belt secured, he made an illegal U-Turn and headed back the way they’d come. Hell, in this weather, the local police were sitting at the stationhouse, warm and toasty, unless they were forced outside, and Nash didn’t blame them one damn bit.
He pulled the Jeep around back of the Coach House, had a hell of a time carving a path through the snow, and cut the engine. He entered the security code and stood aside while Honey ushered the young girl inside. Honey paused, her arms around the girl, and looked over her shoulder. “Thanks, Nash.”
“No worries.” He watched her closely, and something stirred in the air. His heart thumped so loud, he wondered if she heard it. He realized he wasn’t ready to leave yet. Wasn’t ready to let her go. The girl’s face was averted, but he had a feeling she was paying close attention. “Brooke, have you had anything to eat?”
She looked up then. She was a cute little thing. Big blue eyes. Wide forehead. Clear skin. Bruise on her cheek. Anger punched him in the gut, but Nash did what he could to hide it. Anger did nobody any good because it always made things worse. This young girl had already been through something violent, and he sure as hell didn’t want to add to her misery.
She shook her head, and he smiled. “How about a burger and fries?”
Brooke looked up at Honey, who said, “He does make a damn good burger.”
“Okay. Thank you,” Brooke said. She bit her bottom lip. “Do you have bacon?”
“Sure do.” Nash moved past them and headed toward the kitchen. “How about cheese?”
“Yes, please.”
“Gravy for your fries?”
“Yes.”
“Hey, what about me?” Honey asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Nash paused at the doors that led to the kitchen. He smiled at that.
“I already know what you like.” He disappeared from view, and that was too bad. If he’d turned around, he would have seen something on Honey’s face he’d never seen before. Ever. Full-on, unabridged surprise.
Outside, the wind howled, and in the kitchen, Nash heard the fury of it as ice pellets continued to lash at the large building. He turned on the fryer and grill and got busy fixing a gourmet meal of his famous burgers and fries. Honey liked hers well cooked with onions and mushrooms, while he was a full-menu kind of guy and opted for the works. He grabbed some cheese curds from the walk-in and heated up some gravy. By the time he had everything ready, at least thirty minutes had passed, and he headed up to Honey’s apartment.
Hands full, he didn’t knock and looked up in surprise when the door opened just as he was about to kick the bottom of it. Honey stood there, a half smile on her face.
“You’d never make a career as a thief, Booker. I heard you coming a mile away.” She opened the door wide and indicated he should walk through. The young girl, Brooke, was sitting on the sofa, knees tucked under her body, a curious look on her face. The bruise was darker, and he had a feeling by night’s end, it would look worse. Nash set down the large tray on the counter and nodded to the girls.
“Take a seat.”
Honey and Brooke shuffled over to the island and sat down. Nash handed them each their plate, complete with condiments and cutlery.
“Wow. You made poutine?” Brooke dug in hungrily and barely managed to get her words out, considering the steaming-hot fries in there.
“I did. I figured it’s Christmas Eve, so why not dress things up a bit?”
At the mention of the holiday, Brooke’s face shuttered and she glanced down. Nash handed Honey her plate and watched closely as she inspected her burger. “You pay attention, Booker. I’ll give you that.”
It was a backhanded compliment, but it made Nash feel good. He sat down with his own plate, and t
he three of them ate. He made small talk and learned a few things. He knew Brooke’s mom, for one. She’d been ahead of him in school by a few years but had dropped out when she’d gotten pregnant with Brooke. It had been quite the scandal. He remembered her as a pretty little thing, popular and outgoing and a regular on the honor roll. After her boyfriend got her pregnant, she’d disappeared. He heard they got married way too young, and it made him wonder.
“So, Brooke. What’s your mom up to these days?” He pondered asking the question because he knew it was none of his business. But something about the young girl tugged at his heartstrings. She had attitude, that was obvious, but her center was soft and mushy and easily hurt, which meant her bravado was a mask. She was in a bad place, and he wanted to help.
Brooke wiped at a spot of gravy on her mouth and shrugged. “Well, she doesn’t work, if that’s what you’re asking. My dad died in some freak accident when I was like, five, so she gets some kind of insurance payment every month. I think my grandparents set it up that way. They tell folks it’s because she’s bad with money, but that’s a lie. She’s bad with booze. She’s an alcoholic.” She sounded bitter. “She spends all her cash on bourbon or weed or worse.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Brooke made a sound of disgust. “Don’t worry about it. She’s a loser.”
Nash had been brought up a certain way, and calling your mother a loser, regardless of the circumstance, wasn’t in his makeup. “That sounds a little harsh.”
Brooke nailed him with a look and didn’t bother to hide the anger in her eyes. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know me. You don’t know her.”
“No.” He sat back and kept his voice soft. “You’re right about that. I haven’t seen your mom in years. But I remember who she used to be. Some people have a hard time navigating life, you know? They need help.”
“Not everybody wants it.” Brooke shook her head. “Her boyfriends are more important than I am. Getting drunk or high is more important than I am.”
You Own My Heart Page 11